


24 Hours to Freedom

by Pineprin137



Category: Original Work
Genre: F/M, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-20
Updated: 2019-01-20
Packaged: 2019-10-13 12:37:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17488178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pineprin137/pseuds/Pineprin137
Summary: Tonight is the night that she finally leaves it all behind.





	24 Hours to Freedom

10:13 pm  
She could see them on the nightstand. All she had to do was slip out of bed and tiptoe over to his side. The scent of whiskey lingering in the room was suffocating. She had to get out. She needed to escape. He wouldn’t care. The worst thought he would have in the morning when he woke up to an empty house would be the realization that he had to cook his own damn breakfast. She was quiet as she made her way around the bed. She was in reach. It was right there. All she had to do was grab the ring and she would be free. No more yelling. No more failure shoved in her face. No more reminders that he could do better than her; that she was just a warm body and he felt nothing. He felt no remorse when he saw the bruise on her cheek. He felt no fear when she threatened to leave him; he knew she wouldn’t. But this time? This time she was going to walk out that door, hop in his fancy new Porsche, and say good fucking riddance to the piece of shit she had sworn her life to. 

10:43 pm   
She had left all the doors opened. Let someone stumble upon their perfect cookie-cutter house. Let them walk by the wedding photos, the knick-knacks from travels, the school books, her beloved antiques. Let them take it all. She didn’t want it. She didn’t want to ever look at something and have her godforsaken husband pop into her mind. It was all a fucking lie anyway. He was drunk in the wedding photo. He passed out before they made it all the way to the honeymoon suite. The collectible figurines from the Grand Canyon were hers from a high school trip with her best friend. He didn’t even exist in her orbit. She was still recognizable back then. Now if she looks into the rearview mirror, she can’t tell you who the pathetic idiot with the dripping mascara and knock off jewelry is. She sure as hell isn’t the girl who enrolled at the university two years ago to pursue her dream. She isn’t the bride-to-be who he swept away when the planning got too expensive and frustrating. No. Now she’s just the shell of a woman who had dreams and plans with a man she thought was her one and only. 

12:28 am   
A desperate need for nourishment and a desperate bladder finally convinced her to pull over at the little 24-hour cafe she sat in now. It was a bit dismal and empty. The booths were covered in cheap plastic that was filled with cracks and leftover food bits tossed around by angry toddlers. It was probably a nice place during daylight hours, but at a little past midnight, it just looked sad. Was that how she looked? When strangers passing by glanced in her direction could they see how vibrant she used to be? All the life that she was bursting with? Or were they looking at her and pitying her. “Maybe her husband beats her,” they would say. Or maybe “god, look at that piece of trailer trash. Why can’t she stay on her side of the tracks?” They didn’t know her. They never would. But they would come up with a backstory all on their own for the woman with the ponytail, striped pajama pants, and “Keep Smiling” tank top. 

3:56 am  
She could barely keep her eyes open. The adrenaline of finally leaving the bastard had worn off and now she felt...numb. She expected to feel ecstatic or at least relieved, but now she had nothing. She had no one call for comfort, she had nowhere to go. She had swiped his wallet with the keys, but there were only seven dollars in it. Barely enough for two scrambled eggs over-easy at the little diner. All she had was four dollars, seventy-two cents, her husband’s license, and a fancy sports car she resented. At the moment she decided to put her ill feelings toward the shiny red convertible to the side. She raised the top and made sure all the doors were locked. Then she crawled into the tiny back seat, curled up and let exhaustion take her. 

9:22 am   
After being awoken by the rush of sedans and minivans on the road, she pulled out and started driving. Those stupid PTA mommies and workaholic husbands had no idea how good they have it. She would give anything for one ounce of predictability. Sure they had to tote around ungrateful brats and put up with cleaning ladies and luncheons, but they never had to wonder. They didn’t look at the door hoping he came through smelling like his secretary tonight because at least he wouldn’t hit you like he did when he got drunk. No, those good-for-nothing whiny suburban bitches got to come home to a clean house, a loving family. They had no idea how goddamn lucky they really are. 

2:24 pm   
She sat on the bench in the middle and watched them all. She wasn’t sure when she got here or even where "here" was. She was still in her pajamas and bedhead. The mall-goers probably thought she was high as a kite. Maybe she was. Or maybe she had finally snapped. Maybe last night was the final straw and now would end up in a loony bin. They all went about their days, window-shopping, bitching about credit card debt, and repeating stern words to little puppy dog eyes. Most of them tried to avoid her like maybe her melancholy was contagious or if you got to close she might curse their happy coupling. Now that she was no longer one half of a seemingly perfect marriage, she wasn’t worth a second glance or sympathetic head shake. 

5:14 pm   
The chicken on the man’s plate looked so juicy her mouth watered. She wanted to sink her teeth deep into the tender meat on the bone. She was starving. She had no money left. She had no place to sleep. She was fucked. 

7:58 pm  
The mall closed at eight so she now she sat in that stupid car that he had begged and pleaded for. He had manipulated her with spa days and fancy dinners, movie nights, massages, and even a short trip to Niagara Falls. The seats were uncomfortable, space was too tight, and it was mocking her. She left. She didn’t have to leave. She could have planned this better. She could be sitting in her living room with the latest issue of GQ staring at men she would never have covered up by the quilt her sister made for her. But no instead she was crying to herself having a pity party and cursing a hunk of metal for stealing her shitty husband's non-existent affections. 

10:13 pm   
She looked at the clock on the dash. She felt the tear slip down her cheek and a small smile tug at her lips. She had no idea where she was going or what the hell she was going to do. But she could do this. Those glowing numbers were the light at the end of her long, difficult, lonely tunnel. Fuck her abusive husband and her sham of a marriage. She didn’t need either one anymore. 

One day down, one lifetime to go.


End file.
